Parent Teacher Conferences

 Last Thursday was my 25th first marking period parent/teacher conference night.  I know a lot of teachers cannot stand these things.  It is a late night.  We always have a full day of school the next day.  When it is right before a holiday, it is even harder because we are wiped out and the kids are wired.

I happen to enjoy the conferences.  I like meeting with the kids' representatives.  On recent occasions, I have even gotten to meet with the siblings of students when they step in for a working parent, and those siblings end up being former students.  Even when I have not-so-great reports on the students, it is still a nice time.  Some years I have such a good time I wish I could offer coffee, tea, and pastries and just call it a social gathering.  Most years, I have been the last one out of the parking lot because the last parent and I end up chatting for a while.

Many years, three of us guess how many teachers will not be there and which one of us will get the most visits.  Well, under the new administration, it's anyone's guess what teachers are missing and there is rarely a greeting to start the night.  So there goes part one of our game.  As far as the second part, I lost.  I only had five representatives come see me.  

Since it was such a quiet night, I spent the down time looking through photo books for samples to show two of my students seeking reassurance or inspiration.  I also nearly fell down a rabbit hole:  early color photographs, one formula being doubted and only recently proven correct.  

My life is profoundly sad lately, but some of the rare bright spots come from my students, and sometimes their parents/caregivers.  

12 November, 2023

 Well, blogging did not go as planned for the first marking period.  I am so swamped that my heart is racing and I am near hyperventilating almost daily at work.  I am not an outlier.  Other colleagues are crying on a regular basis.  Some have sought medication to deal with what is going on.  Despite what family thinks, I have been seeking extra help, but have failed so far.  With the world falling apart, there is a dearth of good counselors with open calendars out there.

Last night, I was at a colleague's wedding celebration.  A former French teacher from my school was there with her new husband.  He is a teacher too.  I congratulated them on finding each other because I am now of the belief that the only significant other who can fully appreciate a teacher and truly support us with all of our needs and stresses is another teacher.  

I saw some other people from work.  Our retired director of Special Ed, a retired department head, a former video production teacher, and a couple of former students.  One former student told me she had actually gone on to major in Photography for her associate degree.  The former department head was kind to me despite our past differences.  The former video production teacher told me some kind things including her disbelief that the staff were too ignorant to not elect either me or the colleague we were celebrating that night as union president because of how much better we would be at that job.  

The SpEd department head had the kindest things to say to me.  He and I worked together on a group he led for students with anxiety and such.  He told me that I was the best he had with that group.  His girlfriend told me she could tell how good a person I was for the kids because of my kind face and demeanor.  I had also taken part in two of the teacher groups he ran - an anxiety group for staff and a group for AP teachers.  He knows my work ethic and how I care about and for the students.  He knows me well.  To hear those kind things meant a great deal to me.

All the kind, caring things people said to me last night will help me get going tomorrow morning when I return to the classroom after our convention break and the end of a harrowing marking period.  I hope to post more regularly.  I think I need to do what I tell my kids to do - write a reminder to myself so I do not forget.  Or maybe I should make a Google Classroom for myself and post this as an assignment with a due date!  How teacher of me.

Year 25

 This is my 25th year in the pension system.  It is my 26th year if I count my year subbing, which included a long-term coverage, but it does not count.  So this is my 25th year as a permanent teacher.  I thought I would keep notes about how this year goes.  Twenty-five is a milestone, a big deal.  We shall see how it goes.

We had students yesterday and today is the second day of their school year.  The kids seem ok.  There are a number of changes in the building and I will reserve judgment until next week when we go through them all.

In the meantime, I want to treat myself this weekend but I don't know if I will manage it.  We shall see.

I started my 23rd year of teaching two weeks ago.  We are full time, in person, but all people in the building must wear masks.  I am vaccinated and content with that.  I no longer have to be fearful of catching the virus and passing it to my dad.  He died in March.   My mother-in-law died the previous July.  I think at this date, eight or so people I knew personally and cared about have died since the pandemic started and less than half of them died from the virus.  Cancer, overdose, and unknown are the other causes.  I have not travelled anywhere since November 2019.  Fritz has been sick since December 2020.  Multiple misdiagnoses, the removal of a mass from his colon, possible FIP, cancer diagnosis ruling out FIP, then the true diagnosis of FIP.  Nearly 100 days of injections, and into the seventh day of three months of observation.  The first Saturday in June, we nearly lost him.  The club has reopened but my social anxiety has kept me from getting over there all but three nights since then.  It is the one place I can go to and feel like I belong, but anxiety is tough.  In some ways the time since March 2020 has been profoundly terrible.

In some ways the time since March 2020 has been amazing.  Teaching remote was wonderful because I had total autonomy and didn't really care if I got into trouble.  We were instructed to teach with care and I did.  I let the kids keep cameras off, against the rules.  I was flexible with due dates and how they approached their projects.  I really felt the kids were happy to see me, even if I never saw some of them.  Lots of them told me they appreciated my respect for them in letting them keep the cameras off.  One kid I never saw, who I thought was bored in my class, took me again this year because of his experience with me last year.  Another kid, who I no longer have, emailed me last night to tell me about a cool find in a local park.  I thought the work I was getting from my kids was the strongest in years.  When I put the art show video together and saw the work from the other classes, I was even more pleased.  My students created such deep, thoughtful photos.  I have not had so much work impress me so much since 2013.

I loved not seeing a single person from my building.  I loved not having the face-to-face encounters that always involved bitching about the administration.  I loved not having to pretend to like everyone.  I loved not feeling like I needed to watch my back.  I loved not having to walk past that unity garden.  I have had positive experiences with three people in other departments in the past year, but I would be kidding myself if I ever categorized them as friends.  But they are good colleagues.  Communication from others is always so negative and, luckily, that trickled to nothing over the summer.  In the days since our return, I have had few visitors to my room and I am close to happy.  We have new administration and while people are acting as if this is wonderful and a 180 from the previous administration (who they claim was horrible) I just do not care.  I don't care that people tell me I am wrong about my feelings about the previous regimes.  I don't care about any of them, their feelings, or opinions.  I am in that building to teach young adults to be photographers and good people who will learn some wonderful things in their time with me.

And I feel great about that.  I like being alone in my room, cleaning and repairing equipment, tinkering with new processes and methods, looking into new ideas and photographers to present to my kids.  I like knowing I have time to watch cool videos from museums around the world and think of how to use them with my kids.  I am so sad all the time, but nearly happy as well.  It's interesting.

Three minutes before my lesson starts last night, my sister texts me.  Kraa died.  I couldn't cancel my lesson.  I had practiced all week.  I was nailing the songs.  Then he calls.  My hands were shaking.  I could see him wince a couple times as I played.  I mixed up the two Joy Division songs I was playing.  I couldn't tell him why.  What does he care? By the end of the half hour, I felt a bit better, but sad.

I immediately went upstairs to get the next record I needed to practice to.  I just tried to play without the music while sitting on the sofa.  I had to go to the bathroom to take a break.  I am really sad.  A lot of who I am is a result of high school.  Kraa was part of it.  Not all, but a part.

When I transferred to that high school, it was because the art program was way better than the parochial school I was in.  Her name was Mrs. D'Adezzio.  By the end of the year, we were to call her Kraa.  By the time I was a senior, we all called her Kiki.  I found out from a former student of hers that she had gone through a nasty divorce prior to my class's arrival.  When I had her, she had finally been able to shed her old name.

She was a working artist who showed us her work and where she exhibited and what collections it was in.  Her father had been an artist.  They were Scandinavian and she never lost the accent.  She would exclaim "I don't vant crvap!"  Sue and Julie locked her in the storage closet once.  I would never have done it. but we all giggled when she yelled to let her out.  And she laughed when they let her out.  By senior year, I spent the last three periods of every day in that room at the end of Shop Hall.  

I sat at the back table, all alone, to work on my art.  Mat would sidle up next to me, beg me to braid his hair - smelling of milk and fart - and I said only if he would wash his hair.  Daryl - an upperclassman - stopped farting in class once I sprayed his ass with Lysol.  Kiki had no problem with that.  John and whats-his-name stopped harassing me and Julie after we all got to know each other hanging out in the art room at lunch.  I still see John once in a blue moon around Morris County.

There were lots of burnouts in the art classes.  They commandeered the radio.  I went from non-stop Led Zeppelin on repeat on the cafeteria jukebox to 102.7 classic rock in the art room.  Trust me when I say I hate classic rock.  I know it well.  She let us use the largest guillotine trimmer I have ever seen in my life.  She trusted us.  Even after we would dip our fingers in the melted wax pot used for batik.

When I found out John was stealing the jars of Liquitex Acrylic paint, I squealed like a banshee.  How dare anyone steal from Kraa.  But we busted her chops and called her name - Kraa! Kraa! - like screaming crows.  We laughed that she only ate lunch with Dudy Schindler, the librarian's assistant on the softball bleachers across from the room, but as a teacher, I now know why Kiki never bothered with anyone else.  She couldn't mix well with the others there.  I don't mix well with the other teachers here.  

She didn't guide me to art school much.  She tried, then it dropped off.  I have a hunch my mother made a phone call.  But she was cool, fun, knew her shit, was tough, snarky, and did the best she could considering what she must have been dealing with at that time.  

I guess a lot of what I do is from her, now that I think about it.  I began seeing her at high school art shows.  She joked that my sister and I were her competition because our students' work was now winning awards too.  I couldn't believe the compliment!  I felt cool.  At the Ringwood show one year, the host was calling me for something and I didn't hear.  Kraa yells "Melanie!" and I was snapped back to that room at the end of Shop Hall, circa 1990.  If COVID had not hit, I would have seen her this year at one show or another.  But I didn't.  I didn't get to see her and her man (lurking in the background).  I'm sorry.  And now a part of me is gone.  

 When growing up, we didn't have enough money to go away to fancy places.  We went to DC a lot, and other places that did not cost a ton.  I didn't get to leave the country until I was 35.  I have left every year since, even up to twice a year.  I still go to DC every year.  It is the single place I feel truly at home.  

We have not gone anywhere since our November DC jaunt.  The coronavirus has put a halt to that.   

When growing up, my parents - or maybe just mother - liked to move a lot.  The family called them "the gypsies".  They had live four different places by the time I was born.  I have not started my education in one place and ended it in the same place.  

When I started working at 14, I made a habit of doing my thing at a job, leaving when I got bored or felt I hit a plateau, and moving on.  I did go back to three different places - put two out of business! - but I never stayed a place longer than six years.  The place we lived when I was in fourth to college was the longest place my parents ever live in one house.  The current job I have is the longest I have ever worked in one place.  

My mother always told me I was too picky when finding friends.  As a result, I befriend people who are not compatible with me.  Even those never last long.  I get tired of the things that bother me - racism, stupidity, ignorance, poor treatment of me, and so on - and let the association dissipate.

Nothing in my life has lasted long, out of boredom or frustration, for the most part.

We have lived in our house since the early 2000s.  However, I have been getting restless.  Really restless.  Like, dying to get out and move.  I am looking at homes, looking at our finances and trying to figure out if we can get a really tiny place to try out a new area.  I am finding myself riding in the car and dying to leave.  And I don't really care if I see anyone here again, for the most part.  I mean, there are a couple of people I keep in touch with in other parts of the country, so if a connection is meant to last, it will.

I love the kids I teach.  I love my house and yard.  I love the town I live in.  I love the places I can go hiking and bike riding.  And, once the pandemic is over, I will love going back to the club and seeing all the friends there.  So why do I need to get out so badly?

I realized a couple of days ago that my traveling satisfied a need to get away.  When I go away, I immerse myself in where I am.  I rarely go online.  For that duration, I sever all connections.  This place in New Jersey and the people here do not exist for me.   And I am myself, enjoying the wholeness of the place - art, music, pubs, food, architecture, hikes, gardens.  Yeah, I have no friendships there, but there doesn't seem to be much missing when that happens.  It's not like I have any truly trusting, deep friendships here.   But that loneliness doesn't matter when I am away.  The miles negate the sadness.  I am in my element and no one treats me badly.  I am not expected to do for others who will not give back in return, or if they do, there are strings attached.  And that satisfies my restlessness.  

If everyone keeps doing the things that keep this virus spreading in this godforsaken country and keeps my passport useless, there might just be a "for sale" sign in the front and no more Vasa in NJ.  I need out.

 We were without internet/wifi and land line for seven days.  Usually that is preceded by rain or strong wind.  Nothing this time.  Whenever this happens, I think "I hope people trying to get in touch with me don't think I am ignoring them."

I need not worry.  Only one person contacted me the whole time.  A recent graduate.  She texted me and talking to her made me feel good, like someone wanted to be in touch.  Not to brag about something in their life, just to keep in touch.

So you probably think I should have just used my phone's data.  Well, there are three phones on the plan and all three combined have a total data limit of 2GB.  I rarely use data.  However, I had to check email to make sure my bass lessons were not being rescheduled and I had to do my language lessons each night.  That little bit was a lot, and I did not want to use up all the data.

I make it known that I lose internet often.  Verizon has refused for about four or five years to replace the chewed line.  They will only patch it.  So, you are probably thinking I should give people my number so we can keep in touch that way.  Ah, and there is the problem.  I have.  There is the person who texts me a question, I respond in timely fashion, and remain unread for weeks or months.  Then there is the person who claimed my number was lost when all Instagram DMs were lost when they got a new phone.  Nice one, except your DMs stay with your Instagram account, not your phone.  It is the text messages you lose when you get a new phone.  

You see, people will lie to me to explain why they do not want my number.  It's kind of pathetic. But they will not hesitate to DM me if they need something from me.  The person I was friends with who did actually keep my number - we texted often, and even talked on the phone - has not contacted me since I declined to give him money for rent.  

So, seven whole days with no internet, I don't post for a week - I post on FB regularly so a disappearance is odd - and one whole person tried to get in touch.  My one friend knew I was without phone and he got in touch when he saw me online.  That's it.  I could actually disappear and no one would notice until they needed something from me and found me gone.  I know I have complained about this before, but damn, it hurts.  So many people talked about doing things differently, reassessing how they treat others after this whole pandemic.  All I see now is an impatience and rush to return to the old ways, including how we interact, treat each other, and keep in touch.  I do not think many people have learned a thing from this.  Those of us who do so much for others and thought that more people would become kinder and more giving are facing some harsh realities.  

I know this might sound petty, but I have made a decision that will help me feel better and less let down.  Hubby and I talk about leaving the area when I stop teaching.  I have decided that when I decide to retire/quit, I will do so without telling anyone.  Of course, I will submit my resignation with the required notice.  I would never leave an employer high and dry.  I never have.  We will move and only tell a few people.  Just walking away, without dealing with people pretending they will miss us will be so much better for our self-esteem.  It might seem like a "gotcha" kind of thing, but it is not.  I think about how I always have these hopes - friends will want to do something with me for a special occasion, people will want to do things with me - and I am always let down when I try to reach out and offer.  Just quietly planning, with no selfish or fake opinions from others will feel empowering.  Leaving this area and all these people behind with no warning will feel good.  No dragging things out.  No sadness or lingering doubts.  Just leaving.  The two of us doing something just for us.

 I am going on a vacation in my mind.  My activist and teacher groups have not rested at all since the pandemic.   Yesterday was massively stressful.  I had bass lessons in the morning.  I get so fucking nervous for them because I am not progressing as I would like and I do not want to let my teacher down.  He taught me one of his old band's songs and I was all set.  Then it was my turn to do it and I could feel my legs turn to jello.  When it comes to teaching, I am fine on the stage.  When it comes to anything else, not so fine.  

Then I had my NJEA committee meeting.  I am on the instruction committee and I like the group.  They do not make me feel like a moron when I speak up.  There was some disturbing news about some state stuff.  I do not want to go back in my building in September.  This news did not make me feel any more secure or safe.  I do not trust the supervisor of building and grounds to make sure the place is sanitized properly.  There are so many examples, but I will save them for my book.  (Well, it will probably be a zine, but whatever.)

Then at 7.00pm I was facilitating a panel discussion on safe return to schools hosted by the NNJ DSA.  It was a joint effort between the Political Education group and the Education Caucus.  I was hella nervous.  There were four panelists who are leaders in their districts when it comes to mobilizing.  I am a nobody.  But we had 52 attendees!  And one of them was a former student!  I felt like I did OK.  The former student asked a great question about organizing as a college student.  Then, when it was over, my phone was dinging so much.  They liked the job I did.  They were thanking me.  I am just so not used to this at all.  Peers being nice, supportive, and not jealous or ready to stab me in the back.  Unreal and I felt almost good about myself.

So, I decompressed by having an IPA - note, one, not some - and watching pimple-popping videos.  Today starts the first day of several in which I want to try to not do so much work.  I listened to a new album from Amyl and the Sniffers.  I will be gardening, practicing my bass, cuddling with the cats, listening to more music, and doing some photo work.  

Today is a busy day.  Fritz was confused by my early bedtime and brought Potato Head up to me.  He must have figured I was sick or something.  He is such a good guy.  Cats are the best.

We picked out Fritz and Spooky, but Millie picked me out.  I was standing near her cage and my finger was on the bars.  She came from the back of the cage to sniff me.  She wouldn't leave.  I was chosen.  It felt special.

It was the only time I have ever felt like I was being selected, chosen, someone's first choice.  I talked about this in therapy some months back and I could tell by her reaction that the feelings I have were sad.  I am usually blase about it.  That could be the medication dulling my feelings.  But then there are times - like now - that I think about it more than I should.

You see, I have never been someone's first choice.  I was expected to be a boy when I was born (In an effort to get me to hate my paternal grandmother, my mom told me my dad's side of the family wanted a boy and I was disappointing to them.)  In school, I was the classic last one picked for the team/group.  The only time I have ever been first is when we used to line up in size order - always the runt of the class.

When friendships started in earnest, I was never one people sought out.  When mother urged me to be more assertive, I was made to feel that I was not a part of those groups.  By constantly changing my schools, I was always the late-comer, trying to fit in to already established friend groups.  No one have ever sought me out for friendship.  People will approach me at the club, but that is just acquaintanceship, despite my wanting friendship from some of them.  They already have their friendships set.  I am not needed.

Then we turn to love.  I have had a grand total of three boyfriends an am now married.  All of them let me know that I was not the first choice.  Whether it was by letting me know that his friends thought I was ugly and he could do better, that I was asked out because the first choice was reportedly going to turn him down, that I was cheated on cos I would screw him, that I would be dumped if I didn't have sex with him, seeing the photos of the ex still on his wall when over at his place, being "accidentally" confused with the pined-over ex, being left out of social gatherings because the ex would be there, the friends making me feel unwanted, or having to leave a show because the ex showed up and got him frazzled...  Well, as you can see, no guy has ever chosen me first.  No one has ever told me they thought I was beautiful, wanted to take photos of me for mementos, or let friends know that I was being treated poorly.

When it comes to my students, I do keep in touch with some.  We develop great relationships while together in the building, but most of them dissipate after graduation.  I expect that.  It's natural.  But then there are some that I feel there could be a bond with.  But I am only there for them when they need something.  I have been asked for money twice in the past year.  The last person who did that stopped contacting me after talking and texting every week for ages.  There are those who visit me at school a lot.  But I realized they only come to talk at me.  If I try giving honest advice, I am disregarded, so in order to keep them in my life, I have learned to tell them what they want to hear.  The students contact me for advice, feedback, to give me news, to show off their latest songs/art/projects.  But they never contact me to just talk.  They do not miss me. They miss the way I make them feel.

I work hard to make the people in my life feel wanted and loved, listened to, important to me, like I am happy to have them in my life.  I don't get that.  I never have.  Ever.  I have never had a best friend.  I have never had a guy make me feel like I was first choice.  I have never had a friend make me feel like they sought me out and wanted me in their life.  I do not have anyone I can talk to without fear of retaliation if things go sour (because that has happened too often).  I do not have friends, I have acquaintances.  Once we can go out again, I am going to try the ideas in that book I read, but I am going to be pragmatic about it.  It might always be like this.  I am at an age where my life is probably over half over.  I made it this far being the back-up or the last option.  I hope none of you ever have to feel this.  It sucks.  But I also hope you take the time to find that person or people who do matter to you and let them know.  Only do it if you mean it, though. 

 On Wednesdays, I have bass guitar lessons.  The guy teaching me is an accomplished musician.  I am a doofus.  He is extremely patient with me and my horrible wifi.

This past week we had the most affirming conversation.  He was talking about feeling music within you, in your gut.  There is a difference between the head and the gut - the connection of one to this imaginary thing up there and the other connected to the earth.  He might have thought I was just going to go "uh-huh" but my skin got all tingly when he was talking.  

You see, my sister and I say that there is something wrong with my mother because she does not love music.  Sure, she likes songs.  But there is no passion.  For us, the music we like affects us within.  We have an emotional reaction.  We might feel something positive or negative, but it is not just a decision made in our heads.  Some songs come on and I can feel my breath halting, being sucked out of me.  Some songs make me feel funny, lightheaded, in another head space.  (I get this when looking at art as well.  It is apparently a condition.)

We talked about being connected to the earth.  Music instruments make sounds that you can hear but also feel from head to toe and in our gut, and not just from the vibrations of a loud amp.  You can feel them inside.  The pop fluff or bands making music to make bank aren't doing this for us.  To have him talk about this without him knowing these were my beliefs was so validating for me.  I told him that I do not do drugs and don't drink heavily.  My students wonder how I can manage that and I told him that when I listen to music, the right ones give me the sensations they describe from being high.  He nodded and got what I meant.  I have been made to feel like such a fucking loser by friends and students for seeing things this way.  I wasn't "getting it".  He refuted the idea that the best musicians make their best sounds while under the influence with facts that my students our "friends" would refuse to listen to.  The fact is, they can't do it.  Maybe write a lyric or two, but the music?  Not the genuinely moving stuff.

But you see, I am getting it.  And I am getting it in a more pure way that I can remember or recall much more readily.  And this person who has made music that takes me to a higher place and continues to make music that moves me (though I am too embarrassed to tell him how much I like his current band) validated all of this for me.  I might not become a better bass player right away, but I felt a little confidence at the end of our talk.

 No one I personally know is reading this based on the stats, so what the hell.

My feelings are currently in turmoil.  I want to keep teaching but my colleagues are horrible.  I spent December through the first half of March with a pain in my neck and my shoulders as well as a permanent low grade headache.  Once we went remote, the pain went away.  Just being away from the people I work with alleviated the pain.  Then I read an email one of them sent the Superintendent and the twinges of pain started. The only good thing about this virus is that when we return to the building, I have a legitimate reason for refusing entry to my room to every single one of them.

In addition, the former students who just visit to hear themselves talk or pretend they want my advice will not be allowed entry.

You see, I so desperately want a best friend - hell, even just a friend or someone who wants to hang out with me on occasion will do - that I rarely push away those who want to associate with me.  Mother drilled it into my head that only bothering with those who I have multiple things in common with was being closed minded and stupid.  This has led me to be stuck with people who are right-wing nutters pretending to be liberal, kids who think they are "edgy" but are just assholes, tons of selfish stoners, one kid who is such a shit to girls but he thinks he's being cool, people who only contact me to get my thumbs up on their creative endeavours (even if they are crap), and even one person who tried to talk to me about doubting vaccinations!  I felt like I was in an alternate universe when that person tried that.

I have felt so much better not having these people around me.  When the protocols for the new year came out, I relaxed seeing that visitors would not be allowed.  The ones I really wish would visit are the one-timers.  They come once or twice, then that's it.  I will no longer have colleagues come to my room to bitch about things because I am out of the way and away from prying eyes.  These people love to complain and will come to me to bitch, get advice or help, and then ignore me when that advice involves action.  One of them even joins things, attends one or two meetings, then drops off.  No follow through.

I have a couple more years before I can retire - without collecting benefits, of course - and the loss of students for so long has made me realize that I can make it through without the classroom.  I can leave teaching and survive.  I have two locations my husband and I discuss relocating to.  We are planning the finances to do it.  

But this not knowing what is happening with work - in or out of the room, wild rumours, knowing kids and their families are not following safety protocols cos they're so bored (!) - on top of the fact that I am very union- and politically- active but my local union is a toxic hellhole, the recent death of a relative, my dad's cancer, worrying about my nephew's loneliness, and being the daughter my mother thinks she can go to for sympathy when she deserves none just wrecks havoc with my emotions and sanity.  

I started music lessons.  I suck, but my teacher is super nice and patient.  I listen to my records all the time.  I am beginning to like my space in Minecraft.  If it is not raining, I am outside gardening, reading, swimming, biking, or hiking.  I have bought a shit ton of music to support the artists.  I stay up wildly late every night reading and drinking my glass of wine or absinthe.  I could work through this emotional shit if the club was open and I could dance it off, but oh well.  I live in a country where one's elitist, selfish, middle-class boredom has caused this pandemic to stick around.  

Trying to replicate being in the Crypt by listening to the club DJs online and drinking red wine.  I'm just not bold enough to dance in my living room.  So I chatted with an old student about ales and gardening.  I also worked on finishing some of my mom-in-law's unfinished Christmas decoration crafts.

You see, hubby's mom died three weeks ago, right before our birthdays.  I feel like I can write it here because no one will really read this anymore after my original posting for people to read my blog.  People have such short attention spans.  While most normal humans let everyone know when there is grave illness or death in their circle, I do not.  I leave my family business out of posts if it is current.  (Religion and sex are the two other things I do not talk about on or offline).  We spend one day a week down there to help his dad go through stuff.  She was a crafter, master quilter, and left quite a few projects unfinished.

That is not the sad part.  You see, we had not seen her since last September.  We always saw them on their birthdays, for our birthdays, and for Christmas.   In the fall, she started having more trouble.  She was on oxygen all the time and was really having trouble getting around.  Then I got sick - from kids at work, of course - so we had to cancel our Christmas trip there.  She could not have anyone around her if they had any germs.  Immuno-compromised.  Each time we were OK, she was not.  Then she ended up in the hospital in the winter.  Then she got so bad that she needed a hospital bed in the house.  She was too embarrassed to have us see her like that.  Hospice workers came to the house all the time to help hubby's dad with her.  

Then the virus came.  No one could go anywhere.  Hubby and I were healthy enough to see her, and she was doing better.  We could have seen each other.  But we could not.  Quarantine.  We thought this thing would blow over.  Other countries started loosening restrictions because numbers were way down.  Not here in the good old US of A.  People refused to stay home, refused to wear masks, and refused to stop hanging out with each other.  So hubby and I have been playing it safe since March.  And the numbers in our state started to go up.  Even though the in-laws are in Pennsylvania, they are in a river town.  But in their state people were also refusing to follow their governor's recommendations.  Because, well, freedom and boredom.  Short attentions spans.  All that.

Mom-in-law died and we never got to say goodbye.  We never got to give her her Christmas gifts.  The day after she died, the three of us got to see her one last time.  That's it.  No mourning.  No service.  No goodbye.  Just a big, empty, silent room in a funeral home.

This is from a post in September, 2016:

• The intrigue of the week?  Hearing that something that I have been wanting to do for years is now being done by other staff members.  My problem is that I talked about it with people I thought were friends.  It turns out they are taking my ideas and running with them.  So they can do their gardening club and that is fine with me, but the deceit and theft I am dealing with so far this year is hardening my resolve that I must no longer befriend my coworkers and must see my time with my students as my source of joy.  It doesn't disappoint me. I know who I am dealing with.  It's more like that gnat that keeps flying in your face as you are hiking a difficult trail.  You have bigger things to take care of and this annoying little thing keeps trying to distract you.  I am also finding out that I will be pushed out of a project I was discussing with the the colleague who came up with the idea and was spearheading it.  Actually, we are both being pushed out. 

Some people think I am cold, unforgiving, stubborn in my refusal to use the word "friend" with people.  Here is an update to the above situation.  There were awards received for that garden in the courtyard.  The superintendent continues to brag about the "Unity Garden" and those involved in it to this day.  One of the people involved in it who does not know the original idea was mine even asked me if I wanted to be involved, since I love gardening so much.  I just politely said "Thank you, but I have so many other things I am doing."  Why stir the pot by explaining why?

So I am just finished with the book I mentioned before.  One of the topics was conflict in friendships and how to be honest in dealing with them.  It advised you bring up the issue, let the person know how it makes you feel, and work from there.  And I thought that was a good idea and I would work up the nerve.

Then I thought for a bit.  I did bring it up.  Twice.  The last time, I was really upset about how I had been treated by someone and talking about how I am always trying to do the right thing and not one person in my life has not hurt me.  I said to this person "Tell me about the Unity Garden."  I got nothing.  No answer.

Fast forward to this year.  I am consoling this person after something sad and was told that they were so sorry for what they did to me in the past because they were under the influence of others.  I flashed to the garden.  I just said nothing.  I have given up trying to get this person to admit what was done to me.

Here's the thing.  Anyone can say they're sorry, they are trying to do better.  That is nice.  But there is more needed.  To truly be sorry, you have to be able to admit the specifics of what you did, particularly if you are asked point blank.  If the hurt person brings it up to achieve closure, you do not get to decide to gloss over it.  Without your admission, not only does the hurt party not get closure, but you get off the hook.  That is because you want to put it in the past to assuage your ego.  Don't do that.  Address it.  Take ownership of it.  The longer you wait to do it, the more damage you do and the less likely the person is to ever forgive you.

I am currently reading "Friending - Creating Meaningful, Lasting Adult Friendships" by Gina Handley Schmitt.  It isn't one of those stuffy self-help books for middle aged housewives.  I got it from an independent publisher.  

I like the book but it is at times upsetting.  It breaks things down into what one needs to do for friendships.  It begins by breaking things down into categories. I think people get offended when I say I have no friends, only acquaintances, but it is truth.  There are peers and acquaintances who do not know you well, there are those acquaintances who you share a little with, and then there are your friends.  There is an implicit trust and comfort in friendships.  All of these people like you and you know that. Then there is how to be a good friend by being there for the person by being available, authentic, affirming, assertive, and accepting.  

I am only nearing the end of the Being Authentic chapter, but the reading is good, informative, enlightening at times, and affirming at others.  I do believe there are different versions of ourselves.  We show different parts to different people.  Having said that, I can say that I have always tried to be authentic.  There were times when I tried things that were not "me" in an effort to not close people off.  It does not suit me.  I am probably most authentic with my students, hubby, and at the dance club.  This is probably because they involve the things that are important to me:  adventure, art, music, and travel.  I have nothing in common with most family and co-workers.  So be it.  

There was one thing that hit me hard, though.  There was discussion about expressing yourself to your friends, both good and bad.  Meaning, if there is something in the relationship you are unhappy with, it should not be a problem for one to express this without a problem.  I had a lot of trouble with this one and had to put the book down for a couple of days.  

I give an awful lot to my relationships.  Not out of obligation, but it's just who I am.  Sometimes I get support in return, most often I do not get the same at all.  Unfortunately, just because a person might have given me support in the past, does not mean they are a friend.  I think it was more a feeling of obligation on their part or them playing the part of a good friend.  In a relationship, according to Schmitt, both parties should be able to express their needs and ways they have been let down.  The friendship - if it is truly a friendship - will survive this, as long as the requests are made respectfully.

Here's my issue.  When I have expressed my needs - three whole times!- it did not go well.  One person dug in their heels and said I was too demanding.  Years later, therapy confirmed I was not being too demanding.  It didn't take any of the hurt away, but oh well.  Another time my request was met with a kind of "Well, I am awkward and not that way" kind of attitude.  OK.  The last time was when I requested someone let up on the negativity.  My request was met with days of silence and no contact.  Um, OK.  

So, as I get through this book, and I deal with the solitude of the, pandemic, and the loss of my contact with students, and a few deaths, I guess I have to make some decisions for real.  I say this so often, then I get suckered into thinking I am wrong.  I am just being too demanding (mother's voice) and too picky.  But I am not asking for gifts, money, tons of time.  I just want someone I can trust, talk to, know I will not be subject to revenge if we fall out, know that when I contact the person, they will respond, and I want no drama.  I mean, there's more, so much more to seek in a friend, but these are the basics.  I want to feel accepted, wanted, but also safe.  This spring, I realized I am not safe with anyone.  Revenge is too common and drama is too sought after.

So here I am, writing my thoughts after a year's break cos I got no one to say it to.  But don't feel sorry for me.  I am feeling a sense of freedom.  Twinged with loneliness, but freedom, none-the-less.

It has been awhile since I have done this.  I guess I had people to talk to so I wasn't blogging.  But things are different now.  If you care to read about what I am thinking, I am going to do this more often again.  Enjoy the ride while it lasts.

I have not posted in a long time.  Things have not gone well.  We are fighting for the survival of our program here at work.  I have been told that the success of the darkroom with the ABA program is my safety net, so to speak, but I never relax here.  I have had too much done to me.

My depression has been the worst it has ever been.  I had a very bad end of November and the Holiday break was the worst.  I am lucky that I finally found therapy and was able to switch medical maintenance doctors.  I had been trying for over a year to find a counselor.  My medicine dose has been doubled.  I live in a kind, caring town and have lovely neighbours, but my life is filled with work and acquaintances who are not like the people in my town.

I have decided to be open with my classes about my depression when warranted.  Why?  Well, we have been declared a "Stigma Free School" and I think the students will feel more comfortable with their own issues if they know there are teachers going through some of the same things.  I am judicious in when I talk about or divulge my illness.  So far, no negative ramifications.  It enables those students who have 504s or IEPs to know I mean it when I understand their anxiety and depression issues and will take their work late.  They know I am not lying and some have expressed their thanks.

I have been trying to work on things in therapy and things are not going well this week.  A friend is dumping me for his girlfriend, as he has been told to do with all his friends.  Another friend seems to have been put off by something I said to him.  He deleted his ill-timed joke to me after I made a comment and I have not heard from him since.

I was feeling bad and then I got a wonderful visit from two former students.  I left work feeling happy.  Then I headed to therapy.  She had been doing well since I started in January.  Then she made a comment about a political ideology that I hold dear.  She does not know this about me.  But I immediately felt vulnerable and let down.  I need to be able to be open in therapy but how can I when I know she holds this ideology in such a negative light?  I tried to brush it off for the rest of the hour.  Then as the night went on, I felt worse and worse.  I need to bring this up to her, but fear messing it up.  Just as I cannot turn away my students from feeling open with me by expressing disdain for a belief of theirs, I don't think a therapist should.  I would want my students to tell me when I have said something that made them feel bad - and they have and I have apologized - I need this from my therapist.  I am just scared to do it.

Then when my husband asked for my opinion about a work issue, he clearly did not like the answer I gave him.  It had to do with the sudden assigning a guardian to an elderly developmentally disabled client.  He tightened up when I gave my reasoning, and I could tell my opinion angered him.  I get that a lot.  When someone asks for my opinion and it is not what they wanted to hear, I am met with dismissal or disappointment.

With all this going on, I started ruminating about some things at work.  In my life, when someone has treated a family member or friend badly, I am expected to dislike the offending person and preferably cut ties with them.  However, when a person has done something to me, I can't even get anyone to defend me, let alone drop the offender.  If I express disappointment, I am told my anger at the offender's actions is my fault or I am too sensitive.  Students have asked me to deal with people who have treated them poorly, even former students, yet when one of their own does the same to me, no one will stand up for me.  When people here at work have treated each other poorly, I am expected to not like the offender anymore.  I cannot acknowledge any positive attributes of that person at all.  However, the names of people who have hurt me can be brought up a lot and friendships maintained and I am unreasonable for being upset by this.  I do not get it.  I have forgiven people for horrible things, for upsetting words, for stealing my ideas.  I do not know what more I have to do to get people to respect my right to be hurt and offended.  I was defended once, and that was recently, but I feel it was partly due to the nature of the subject and the identity of the offender.  He is not well liked.  If a chum says something bad about me or does something cruel to me, I will be the only one protesting such behavior.  It's kind of lonely doing that.

I have a union committee meeting in Trenton tonight.  These meeting days are incredibly long abut it is the only thing I am involved in where they are truly thankful and appreciative.

At a time in which I feel I am fighting for my darkroom's existence, I forgot another community darkroom is opening.  The Halide Project - a gallery and workshops group - in Philadelphia is opening one.  I really like this group.  I met them at the Trenton Punk Rock Flea Market some years ago.  they were doing tintypes or some other alternative process on the spot.  I talked to them and arranged to have my students come for a gallery viewing.  We did so after a trip to Eastern State Penitentiary.  I loved it.  My kids were less than enthusiastic.  Very rude  Nevertheless, I have stayed on their email list.  I had completely forgotten about them opening a Philly area community darkroom.  If you have the money to spare, donate to one of these.  The continued life of analog is important.  I have had a few conversations lately about the differences between film and digital prints and I just wish everyone would see there is room in the art field for both.

So I took yesterday off because I had a friend in need of help.  I also went to a new doctor on Monday.  My previous doctor had put me on a new medicine due to the stress at work.  It has not helped at all.  I want to get off it.  This new doctor is taking be off it.  So when a friend says he needs a favour from me, and my mental state is not well, I took yesterday off.

I have a proposal for any administrators reading this:  Create a work climate survey taking into account morale and mental health.  This place sorely needs it.  A number of us are on medication or therapy.  While some of us probably have mental health issues that existed to prior employment, a number of us have had issues exacerbated by the actions of our administration and colleagues.  I would venture to say that this is a hostile work environment.  I know that there have been teacher suicides in Paterson and other stressful places.  I fear it is only a matter of time here.

So yes, I took yesterday off.  What I had to do was more beneficial for me and the other individual than any day in this horrid place.  I love my kids, but the environment is killing me.

After years of dire need, there is a community darkroom opening up in New Jersey.  And it is not in Jersey City, thankfully.  I love Jersey City, but I know how tough it can be for some people to get there.  It is opening in Newark.  Woohoo!!!  I missed the deadline to contribute to donations, but I will once there is an opening for that again.

I have been digging deep online and happened to find an article on the Emulsive website.  It looked like the darkroom was in an area I drive through when going home from the club, so I took a gander on the way home on Saturday.  I cross the street shortly before I get to route 280.  I was in no mood to drive around on Saturday - a gross, persistent guy hitting on you will do that to you - but I plan to drive by the location tonight.  (Yeah, clubbing tonight.  The night before Thanksgiving is always a big deal at the club.  Only black lights.  Everyone's teeth and hair glows.  I need to rebleach my stripe for this.)  So then I started digging into different kinds of film.  Oh dear.  I found some fabulous colour films - wild, psychedelic stuff.  I will put them on my Christmas list, for sure.  Then I found this dreamy black and white film by a brand called Svema.  Gosh, the Eastern Europeans have it going film and paper-wise.

I am trying to get a friend back into shooting.  He has taken a break from it - no access - so I hope that giving him a camera I have laying around will inspire him.  I see so much crappy "art" out there and to see someone with fantastic talent not able to use it makes me sad.  I still have this dream/fantasy of going on shooting adventures with friends.  I had so much fun shooting with a couple of former students over the summer and I want to do it more often.  The creativity osmosis can be quite cool.  Then, imagine having people to develop and print with in my basement?  My sister and I tried to start an art collective years ago.  We envisioned a Morris County thing that would involve the freak artists - not the rich suburban housewife ones in my town - but it never went anywhere.  Maybe when I am done being the Chairperson of the NNJDSA, I can spend more time on my art.

I went out to dinner with a former student yesterday. She is doing so well in college.  She is adjusting perfectly.  Then I was surprised by another friend/former student this morning and he is adjusting well too.  Too often I hear of the kids from this school bombing at college - too much partying, not adjusting to living independently, not handling the workload - and I know that many of my colleagues teach too easily.  I loved last year's class because of the kind of young adults they were.  They were so different and hearing how they are doing in college makes my heart sing.  Last year's bunch was so unique and seeing some of them this week is helping with some stuff right now.

Then I get a massage today, deliver a bag of catnip to my friend, and hopefully dance my ass off at the club.

We have professional development today.  I picked all things that pertain to me and my kids:  trauma, abuse, and addiction.  Hopefully these will be much better than last year's batch.  I felt a bit cheated last year.  I had my hopes up for some and they were nothing but a letdown.

So then we have teacher's convention weekend.  I am going to DC, of course.  There is a phenomenal Gordon Parks exhibit that just opened.  Timely, I have to say.  I cannot wait to go home to DC.  It is the only place in this country in which I can walk the streets and feel I am home.

Now, most people in this area say that about NYC.  Not me.  I worked there for eight months.  All I felt was unwelcome and like an intruder.  However, since I have tomorrow off, and the weather is supposed to nice, I want to go in and walk around.  Maybe go to galleries, maybe go to Bluestockings.  I am so socially awkward I am holding myself back from being social.  My friend works in midtown.  He is having a rough time at work.  He has offered to meet for lunch when I go into the city in the past.  I could offer to meet him to bring some levity to his day, but the fear of rejection stops me.  I also have someone else I would like to ask to go with me but the fear of rejection gets me again.  So if I go, I will most likely be alone, which is usually how I do it anyway.

The last time I went on a Thursday night for gallery openings, I stumbled upon a David Hockney exhibit.  That was thrilling.  It was a lot of new paintings and digital work on monitors.  And he was here in all his bespectacled cuteness.  There was also another two or three big openings but I was not impressed.  The Picasso show?  Meh.  I am not a disciple of his.  Misogynist.  Then there was the socially popular one that had all of society holding court and flitting about and there are me and my friend seeming like the losers who crashed the party...  Quite fun.


I guess I wouldn't mind crashing another art party with a friend....

I keep having dreams about being at my grandmother's house.  Sometimes the people who bought it are there and sometimes they are not.  Last night, they were there but we still owned the house.  Sometimes it is in repair, sometimes it is not.  Sometimes her things are still there, sometimes the house is empty.  Last night, I was going through her stuff.  My sister had taken all the things she wanted - as she did when grandma died.  I was going through the living room taking down draperies to keep.  Then, I was going through all her costume jewelry in a dresser.

Sometimes I dream I am back working at the NBA.  I am taking care of the dupes and slides, filing away and keeping the library in tip top shape.  Sometimes I even go get a coffee from that fabulous coffee machine.  That thing was so legendary that when a friend of my sister's heard us talk about it, he sent us a photograph of the updated coffee machine.  Twenty years later and that thing still has fans.

So I dream about places and people I have good memories of.  Luckily, in my dreams I am back at places that made me happy.  Unfortunately, there is always a profound sense of loss in the dream.  I seem aware of the fact that this is not real or permanent.  When I wake up, there is sadness.

I think I dream of these things because I know that any happy moments I have are fleeting.  I was so happy in my job the last few years.  Now, the security and happiness are gone.  I love the subject I teach but the administration and colleagues have taken the joy out of this.  That is not to say that my job was a cakewalk.  I do come in at 6.00 am every day just to get all the work done.  It has never been an easy job.  But that exhaustion was balanced by a love for what I did.  That love is still there but the joy is gone.  I have a lot of selfish, short sighted people to thank for that.  I just graded a class worth of projects and need a nap.  I am exhausted.  I am burning out.  I am tired of fighting.  However, I am four years away from retirement benefits guaranteed - or at least as much as can be guaranteed in this anti-union climate.

I have a new friend and I am so content with this.  However, I know nothing in my life will last.  I dream of having friends that last long into old age but that never happens to me.  I tend to attract the selfish sort.  However, with a couple of the relatively new ones, I might have found people in it for the long haul.  That makes me happy.  But there is always the knowledge that I was not born to be happy and might lose friends I love dearly.

The dreams are kind of happy, but there is always sadness in the end.